“You won't forget,” said Jerry. He swallowed the last mouthful of the milk in his glass. “You're all coming to the meet. I'll see you afterward?”
“We won't,” said his father. “Don't worry, we'll all be there. Right, kids?”
“Right,” said David.
“Yup,” said Lucie.
“And you, too, Mom, right?”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Grayson. She handed him his gym bag. “Now just try to relax. This isn't your first race, you know.”
He nodded. But inside his stomach, there were flip-flops all over the place. It wasn't his first race, but it was the first one his whole family would attend.
Gulp! What if he made a fool of himself?
On the other hand, he thought, it wasn't as if he hadn't ever been under pressure before. What about the Little League playoffs, when he made the final out by leaping half a mile into the air for that incredible catch? That was pressure.
Face it, he said to himself, I'm an athlete. Athletes live with pressure. So what's another couple of races?
And then he thought about the five hundred. Would Coach Fulton put him in instead of one of his regulars?
The flip-flops started all over.
On the bus to the meet, the coach called for quiet.
“Let's hold it down,” he said. “I have a few announcements.”
He ran through the listing of all the swimmers in the various events. Jerry had been pulled from the one-hundred-yard freestyle and the two-hundred-yard freestyle.
Did this mean he wasn't going to swim at all? Wasn't he a member of the team?
The coach continued to go over the rest of the events until he came to the five-hundred-yard boys freestyle.
Again, the sixth name on the list was Jerry's!
That was it—all or nothing. The coach was letting him swim the one big race that he had asked for.
Okay, thought Jerry. I'll show him. I'll show everyone I have what it takes.
Then he remembered that his whole family would be sitting in the stands. What would they think? Would they understand why he wasn't in the other events? Would they realize that he was being saved for the one big race?
Yeah, that's it—he was the coach's secret weapon. Coach Fulton was counting on him. He wouldn't let him down.
But as the whole team stood for the playing of the “Star Spangled Banner,” Jerry felt those flip-flops return to his stomach.
Tony must have noticed that he was ghost white. The curly-haired swimmer moved over next to him on the bench and said, “Deep breaths, real slow.”
“What?” asked Jerry.
“Lower your head a little, and take just a few deep breaths,” said Tony. “It helps me when I do that. You know, get rid of that funny feeling in my stomach.”
Jerry didn't say a word. He just dropped his head and started breathing deeply.
“Our next event will be the boys one-hundred-yard freestyle,” said the announcer over the loudspeaker.
That's the one I could have been in, thought Jerry. But Tony's in it. I'll root for him.
“Come on, Tony!” he shouted during the final lap when the top two swimmers were coming down to the finish. It was so close, he couldn't tell from where he sat. But the judges soon made the announcement. The winner was Tony Kendrix!
Jerry was really glad for him. At the same time, his competitive juices were stirred. He hoped he would do as well in the big five-oh-oh.
Tanya was entered in the girls one-hundred-yard butterfly. She'd been working very hard on this stroke for the last few weeks and it had paid off in a big way. There was no wait for a call from the judges. Everyone could tell she had won. A loud cheer rose from the stands as she raised her fist in the victory sign.
There was only one more event before the five hundred. This was the two-hundred-yard boys backstroke. Both Lars and Wayne would swim for the Blues in this one. They were both such favorites, it might as well be a two-man race.
BANG!
They were off!
During the first two laps, they were just about even, stroke for stroke, with only one swimmer from the other team giving them any competition. Swimming in lane three, right between Lars in lane two and Wayne in lane four, was Paddy O'Malley.
Paddy kept up a close second place all the way, even though he probably knew that he'd end up in third. Still, he never quit trying.
As they came down to the wire in the eighth and final lap, it was still a duel between Lars and Wayne for first.
And then, Wayne seemed to stop cold in the middle of the pool. His body twisted and he splashed around, treading water as all the others passed him by. Then he made his way to the edge of the pool, where Coach Fulton and a few of the guys helped him crawl out.
“Cramp,” explained Tony. “Poor guy.”
“Is that what happened?” asked Jerry.
“Yeah, some guys get 'em all the time,” said Tony. “Some only once in a while. Some never. I've been lucky.” He made it clear he didn't want to discuss it any more by turning away and staring at the scoreboard.
Lars had won easily, and Paddy O'Malley was the proud possessor of second place.
A flash of concern for Wayne ran through Jerry's mind until he saw him walking about normally. Wayne would be in a lot more races and take a few first places from Lars, Jerry expected.
“The next event will be the boys five-hundred-yard freestyle,” said the announcer. “Swimming in lane one for the Clapham Clippers will be Fred ‘Flash’ Gordon; in lane three, Danny Chang; and in lane five, Silvio Reppuci. For the Blues, in lane two, Albie ‘Ace’ Willoughby; in lane four, Paul Prescott; and in lane six, Jerry Grayson. Swimmers, please take your places.”
Jerry felt as if he had lead weights attached to the bottom of his feet as he walked over to the starting block for lane six. He hardly noticed that it was right next to the stands where his family had found seats. But as he put his first foot onto the block, he heard his little sister, Lucie, shout out, “Come on, Jerry! Let's see you win!”
The little pipsqueak of a voice cutting through all the noise of the crowd must have tickled a few ribs. A whole section of the crowd started laughing.
I hope they're not laughing at me, thought Jerry. He patted his stomach to settle those flip-flops that had started up again. I really hope they won't be laughing at me after the race!
He knew that Paul Prescott was the big favorite. He'd been swimming the five hundred all year. But Ace Willoughby had only started swimming the five hundred after winning the last three of his two hundreds. This was his third five hundred.
Jerry hadn't been swimming long enough to be able to size up the competition on the other side. The Clapham Clippers were a bunch of unknowns to him.
What difference did it make? he asked himself as he stood there waiting for the starting signal. Do your best, that's the most important thing. By this time, practice should have been enough to make that second nature. All he had to do was hit that water clean and start swimming his natural crawl as soon as possible. That's what had gotten him here in the first place, after all.
“All right, swimmers, on your mark!”
Jerry's toes clenched over the edge of the block. He stood there with his feet a few inches apart, his legs bent slightly at the knees. His arms were extended backward, with the palms turned upward.
“Get set!”
He leaned forward, ready to make his plunge.
BANG!
Jerry pushed off and forward at the same time. His arms swung in front of him as he entered the water a few inches below the surface.
The minute he felt the sensation of cold liquid on his fingertips, he put all his training into effect and began the six-beat crawl at a steady pace.
Then a loud whistle shrieked, and he knew right away that something was wrong. Someone had false-started.
The whistle kept blowing. The six swimmers stopped and returned to the starting position.
He glanced over at his folks in the stand. Someone seated next to them was explaining what had happened.
I guess they didn't expect a false start, thought Jerry. Neither did I. At least no one is pointing the finger at me.
But it took a little of the wind out of his sails. The next time the starting gun was fired, there was just a little less spring in his dive. Still, he hit the water cleanly and began to work his way down his lane for the first of the twenty laps it would take to complete the five hundred.
Arm over arm, stroke after stroke, he reached forward and sliced his way through the water. He tried to keep his breathing as regular as his strokes, turning his head under the water to exhale through his nose with each lap.
Nice and steady, he said to himself during the first five laps. Keep your mind on what you're doing. Reach ahead toward the end of the lane. Never mind what's going on at either side.
Still, there was no way he could miss the stroke-for-stroke splashes that accompanied him back and forth. It seemed as though the swimmer in the lane next to him was gaining a little after the third lap.
As Jerry made his fifth turn to start the sixth lap, he knew that the race was one-fourth over. It was time for him to increase his effort a little bit to make sure he wasn't falling behind. So, keeping the same rhythm between his arm strokes and his kicking, he speeded up both ever so slightly.
The swimmer on his side was just about a stroke ahead of him. Still, Jerry knew that he had to keep swimming exactly as he was, to conserve some energy for the last big push.
“As we approach the halfway mark, with ten laps to go, the leader is Silvio Repucci in lane five by just half a stroke—”
Hey, I must be right behind the leader, thought Jerry. I'm in second place and the race isn't half over yet.
“Coming on strong in lane two, however, is Ace Willoughby in second place—”
Not quite second, I guess, Jerry realized. The disappointment caused him to break his stride for a second, but he quickly recovered.
“And making a big push for third place, it looks like a tie so far between Paul Prescott and Jerry Grayson.”
All right, it wasn't over yet.
Just before he reached the edge of the pool for his tenth turn, he saw Tony crouched down holding a cardboard sign marked with a big “10” under the water for him to see. Without wasting time staring, Jerry could tell that Tony was right there cheering him on.
Second half, time to put on some more pressure. Jerry felt like he had a gearshift inside him, just like the one his dad had in his car. He'd been in first and second gear, and it was time to move into third.
Now, at each turn, at the opposite end of the pool from where the race had started, there were lap signs waiting for him. He noticed that Wayne held the fourteenth lap sign and Lars the fifteenth. Coach Fulton wanted his swimmers to know the whole team was with them.
Only five laps to go, thought Jerry. Here's where I really have to make the final push. Okay, fourth gear, here we come. He pushed off extra hard, pleased to see that both legs were still holding up fine. There was no sign that his right leg was any the worse for the pressure of the long-distance race.
“With just three laps to go, only seventy-five yards left in this race, it looks like Ace Willoughby in lane two by four strokes; making a strong push, however is Danny Chang in lane three; Silvio Reppuci, the early leader, has dropped down to third place; and trailing him by a—well, about a nose—is newcomer Jerry Grayson.”
Fourth! He wasn't going to settle for that. He'd show them. He'd pour it on and take—well, he certainly wanted to end up in one of the top three spots. He knew he could do it.
Tony was back holding up the sign that told him it was the eighteenth lap. Jerry saw him, then rushed into his turn. He barely finished his somersault before he started to twist back into crawl position. His push-off from the wall was awkward, and he knew that he'd lost a few seconds and distance behind the leaders.
The only way to make up for it was to swim full out for both of the last laps, instead of sprinting in just the twentieth.
Jerry went for it.